Kermit

The society of SOTF cried out in panic one morn, with the fingers of dawn stretching towards an empty and cold sky. 'Will nobody save us,' they begged, 'from this lore we have amassed through a decade of murder, of site changes and culture shifts? Will nobody sift through vase abuse and mermaids, sexual assault and songposts, to make sense of it all? Will nobody brave the awful skins of V1 or the illegible typos of our forefathers?'

To answer their cries, to respond to their prayers, a being emerged. Born of suffering, of dejection, of hostility towards those that had come before. Formulated and hardened in the forges of V1, ranged across the desert wastes of V2, learned in the jagged peaks of V3. Raised on poorly thought out ideas and reality breaking situations.

He answered our prayers, heeded our call.

He exists.